Home
by d00dle2013
Summary: Every time something starts to become home, something falls apart. (Tag to episode 3x20 Emancipation)


" _It feels like home, which never ends well._

 _You sure? 'Cause mistrust of home is my other superpower._

 _The second I made friends at the orphanage… gone_

 _And God forbid i called a foster family 'home'._

 _It's 'pack your bags'"_

 _-Daisy Johnson, Episode 2x17_

S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Daisy Johnson knows that she should feel relief when the quinjet touches down at the base, but all she feels is dread and nausea.

Daisy takes off the headset and drops it on the swimming control panel in front of her. She spins the seat around slowly, puts her head into her hands, and tries to shake away the fog clouding her thoughts. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her body fighting to get air into her lungs and oxygen to the rest of her body.

She knows the signs of shock from being trained in basic field first aid, but part of her brain knows that she is too rattled to self assess her condition. Now no longer influenced by Hive's Sway, Daisy knows that she needs medical attention, and lots of it.

The rear hatch of the Quinjet creaks open and May, followed by two guards, climbs the ramp, concern etched the vague expression on May's face.

Daisy watches as her ever strong SO fights the urge to break down, clenching her teeth as she steps by her husband's crumpled body and makes a beeline for the inhuman swaying in the pilot seat.

May takes Daisy by the shoulders and looks her squarely in the eyes, whatever she says to the guards, Daisy does not comprehend. A loud buzzing has begun to fill her ears. Something is draped over her shoulders and strong hands pull her to her feet and start to lead her away from the jet. Daisy is overcome with dizziness as she walks, leaning heavily on the man leading her away from the quinjet.

The two guards gingerly load her into the elevator, trying not to give her much attention, save for the supportive arm under her elbow. Today has taken a lot out of her.

Her world starts to go numb around the edges when she sees the rest of her team as she emerges from the elevator. Her voice cracks as she speaks, tears finally start to leak from her eyes. Simmons must have noticed her distress and orders the guards to transport her to the medic bay.

Somewhere between the elevator and the med bay, Daisy loses awareness of her surroundings and her knees give out, the guard lifts her effortlessly and quickens the pace to the med bay.

Simmons moves in a flurry of activity around Daisy as she sits on the cot, shackled arms resting in her lap. The pain is starting to come back into her limbs. Her left arm throbs where she has been shot. Her chest aches from the effort that it is taking to draw a breath. Simmons orders bags of blood for transfusion and a cranial scan and helps Daisy lie down on the cot.

The medical team wastes no time, and a flurry of movement begins around her. Bright lights are quickly flashed in her eyes, cool fingers reach around the handcuffs to rest on her wrist (she can feel the vibrations of her heart beat, fast and weak, against the cuffs), cold patches are pressed to her chest, and something is clipped on her finger. Her senses are overloaded when the sounds of monitors fill the small room. A sharp prick somewhere near her elbow alerts Daisy to an IV being inserted and Simmons' face fills her vision as something is placed over her mouth and nose. Daisy sees Jemma's mouth moving, but hears nothing but rushing blood in her ears. Bile rises up in Daisy's throat and she gags, panic flashing across Jemma's face as she helps her friend roll to the side, pulling the mask down off of her face.

Daisy's vision fades away into blackness.

In the hours that follow, Daisy thinks that the nearly constant vomiting is the worst.

She lies on the cot in the med bay, tubes in her arms supplying blood and fluids and the cannula under her nose brings extra oxygen to her blood deprived body. Monitors beep and alarms sound near and far. Her head aches and her stomach lurches at small movements of her cot and she simply cannot get comfortable. Part of her wishes that Fitz or Simmons will come back and ask her more questions, even if there is nothing left to tell. The vomiting may be the worst, but the isolation is not far behind.

The tremors that hit the next morning, after a restless and nearly sleepless night spent dry heaving. These aren't the tremors that shake the world around her, but the kind that rattle her aching muscles until she can barely take the agony of the withdrawals.

Half joking, half delirious, Daisy tells Jemma to take her back to Hive before she vomits a fresh bit of clear liquid on her scrubs. (Jemma clenches her jaw and quietly lays a damp cloth over Daisy's eyes again, trying not to show the pain.)

In the quiet moments when the diazepam calms the muscle spasms and the zofran settles her stomach, the guilt starts to seep in between the cracks of her exterior. She can barely look Coulson in the eyes, and bursts into tears when Fitz brings Jemma some new monitoring equipment. (It's the sudden decrease in dopamine, Jemma tells Daisy as she comfortingly strokes the injured woman's arm. All of them know it's a lie, but no one challenges the thought). Jemma gives Daisy a mild sedative to help the anxious woman sleep off the discomfort, but it just leaves Daisy pushing to fight away the darkness, eyes open and unseeing through the night.

The physical symptoms that keep her in med bay for 2 days have nothing on the soul crushing emptiness that presses all breath from her lungs. Daisy felt so good, so right, when she was under the Sway, and now, without it, she feels lower than she ever has in her life before. She's still weak, still has dizzy spells, is still fighting the pain of withdrawal, but Jemma has cleared her medically.

She's lying on the bright white bed, reeling in guilt and pain and remorse, when someone knocks on the window to the containment pod.

Daisy bolts into a sitting position at the sound and glances toward the glass enclosure entrance, trying to ignore the wave of dizziness that rushes through her head.

Mack is standing behind the glass, soft grin on his face. He is happy to see her, but Daisy cannot bring herself to look him in the eyes. The guilt weighs painfully upon her chest, pushing the air out in a soft huff.

Mack presses a few keys on the keypad and steps into the stark white room.

Daisy, still not looking him in the eyes, stands to greet him. Her resolve breaks.

She crashes into him in an instant, crying, berating herself, apologizing all at once. She's sorry, she's sorry, _she's sorry._ She's sorry she betrayed her partner, she sorry she hurt him, she's sorry that she exists, she's just sorry.

Mack takes it all in stride, holding her tightly to his chest as she cries, murmuring comforting words in her ear.

"You're home, Tremors, you're home."

As the frantic cries fade away into sniffles, Daisy allows herself to think, just for a moment, that she may have finally found a home that won't be torn away from her.

" _Ragtag base, this is Agent Daisy Johnson. I'm coming home, repeat, i'm coming home"_


End file.
